Ms Potter and the beginning of Great Things
by Awigo500
Summary: AU, Replaced PS/SS. Point of fracture in canon; James and Lily Potter have conceived a girl. A small change at the beginning will lead to wide fractures in story line. No current pairings.
1. Chapter 1

Story Summary: AU, Hogwarts Years. Point of fracture in canon; James and Lily Potter have conceived a girl. A small change at the beginning will lead to wide fractures in story line. Her identity is public knowledge, not some hidden secret or nefarious plot.  
Important note: "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies" (All of the prophesy known to Voldermort)

So, without further ado,

**Chapter 1: Life with Them.**

_Sometime in June, 1990_

It was just so soft. Warm. Cozy. It couldn't last. How long had she been asleep? The world was cold and harsh, she could feel it on her face. Her eyes opened, and for a moment nothing came into view. Then, slowly, a trace of dim outlines appeared, and the glimmer of light at the base of the curtains. Sleep reached back, her eyes fluttered close…

NO! She jerked back awake, unwilling to chance falling off again, she slipped her legs out from under the covers. There's a trick to doing things silently, and she has been well versed in the subject.

Dodging the number of toys which littered the smallest bedroom, she fished her clothes up from earlier and pulled them on. Finding the last sock was a trick; it had hidden under the bed. Ignoring the grunt from the room's sleeping occupant, she gently reached for the door handle. The door slipped open without a sound, and then closed behind her the same.

It was impossible for her not to wonder what she had done wrong. They had accused her of helping, no – making, Dudley cheat. That's why he failed his last test, because she had been doing all his homework. They had been furious. What would the teachers think; perfect homework, horrible test grades. Did she think this was fun? Getting poor Dudley in trouble? She skipped the squeaky stair. No, of course not. But Dudley hadn't wanted to do it. And she would have been punished for doing better on the assignments if she hadn't helped. And she had tried to get Dudley to learn, but he was very slow sometimes. It took such an effort of cajoling and prodding to get him too. Wasn't that the teachers' job? The door to the cupboard under the stairs opened. No. She had a responsibility to help her cousin, didn't she?

The sheets were cool and crisp. She had snuck them into the wash with Dudley's the other day. Term was ending; tomorrow would be the last day. That brought a smile to a tired face. Last day was always nice. No more tests. Just turn in your books, and fill in those stupid surveys about what you liked about class. And then it would be another glorious summer. Above her head, Francis the spider spun merrily. He wasn't much of a friend for a girl to have, nor was he much of a pet. But she would take what she could get.

.."Eight! Seven! Six! Five! Four! Three! Two!" – A loud clattering bell broke in, a cheer arose throughout the whole building. She clamored for the door, finally free. Today, there was no real fighting. In less than a minute, the room would be empty. A hand came to rest on her shoulder.

"Ms. Potter?" It was the voice of Mrs. Carol. Freedom would apparently have to wait. She dumbly followed Mrs. Carol back to her desk, where her teacher – former teacher? – picked up an envelope off the desk. "Could you deliver this to your Aunt and Uncle?"

She nodded, and Mrs. Carol smiled back at her. "If you're wondering what it is" – oh, she was wondering – "I'll let you know this. I think it would do you very well to skip the next grade." She took the proffered envelope with a mixture of glee and reverence. Skipping a grade meant leaving primary school behind. And leaving primary behind meant leaving Dudley behind. Stonewall High was clear on the other side of town. It meant no one would know Dudley. No more of Dudley's gang. She barely remembered stuttering some incoherent thanks before dashing from the room. She soon slowed. Dudley had been picked up by Pier's mother, who was taking them out to ice cream to celebrate. Which meant they probably weren't coming to pick her up.

Walking the all too familiar way home, she was nothing but giddy. Maybe they would send her to Smeltings even? A boarding school free of them for months at a time? It was an idle, ridiculous thought. Hadn't they complained that they would need to buy some sort of uniform for her to go to Stonewall? And still, oh she wished it. Which was ridiculous. They never wasted money on her. Didn't she sleep on Dudley's old crib mattress? Well, yes, but a they claimed a bigger one wouldn't fit. Still, it was slightly ridiculous; feet sticking off of it and all. No, there really was no way she would be going anywhere but Stonewall. But it was still brilliant. Taking a right onto Magnolia Crescent, she ran a million dreams through her mind. Maybe she could make friends at Stonewall. And they could talk about school, and cloths and anything else. Maybe they wouldn't run away from her on the playground. Maybe, even maybe, she could get out of 'helping' Dudley with his work. It was summer, she might never have to attend school with Dudley again, nothing could go wrong. She skipped up the driveway, and waved merrily at the elderly Mrs. Figg, who was taking her daily walk about the block.

The downstairs was deserted, so she pulled off her shoes, put them aside neatly on the rack, and walked down to her cupboard. The outside latch took a bit of a crank to get open. When she was younger, there had been a cheap simple latch on the door. A latch that with a roll of dental floss, enough time and a folded bit of paper, could be opened from the inside the cupboard. Carelessness had alerted them to this fact. This one was stiff, and misaligned so it took a bit to move from the outside.

Leaving the door slightly ajar, she sat down on the bed and began taking the things from her bag and putting them in the cupboard. With the exception of her spiders, she kept a neat cupboard. Each wooden riser had some sort of picture or drawing tacked to it. The back wall had a calendar on it; Dudley had thrown it away in late January. Several shoe boxes, one from Dudley's toy car, another from a blender were stacked as a makeshift cubby. Beside it, was two stacks of her cloths, one for school, one for home.

She sighed before changing into the home cloths. The socks with the big holes in the bottom. A shirt Dudley hadn't worn in years. Pants which gotten too small. Really they should have been rags, but a fair bit of needle work had split the seems and patched in a strip of cloth down each side seem. They ended halfway to her knees. But she didn't dare wear her school cloths at home. Sure, if she got into Stonewall High, they would need to get her a new uniform, but otherwise she would spend a year at school being the kid in rags. And she was enough of that as it was.

Someone was descending the stairs. Gritting her teeth, hoping for the best, she gripped onto the letter and pulled herself out of the cupboard.

"You're home. Good. I have things for you to do. What's this?" The letter was snatched out of her hand.

"A letter from Mrs. Carol, Ma'am." The envelope was ripped up roughly, and she stared as the paper was taken out.

"You know what this says?"

"Yes, Ma'am. She said it was about skipping a grade, Ma'am."

There was a bit of a grunt, and the letter was back in the envelope. "We will see about this. Do your chores, and make sure the guest room is spotless. Marge is visiting in a few days."

"Yes Ma'am." She closed and loosely latched the cupboard door. Marge. Uncle Vernon's sister. She climbed the stairs. A horrible woman, all around. What could one expect from a sibling of a horrible man? The apples fall not far from the tree. She entered the smallest bedroom first, and stripped the sheets off the bed. No homework tonight. Maybe she could slip out before dark for the park. Four towels joined the pile of sheets in the hall. The cloths from Dudley's floor. The hamper from the master bedroom. Musing over the mundane task took her mind off Marge for a moment. The wash was started before she got back to such thoughts.

It was too late to start any work outside, and too early to start dinner. She set plates for three at the kitchen table, and left a fourth on the counter before entering the dining room. The dining room was home to her most prized possession, even if it wasn't hers. Aunt Petunia had so wanted to learn to play a piano that they had gotten an upright and placed it in the dining room. It collected dust until they had told her to learn how to play. There had been a free piano lesson offer long ago, where an young lady, new in town had shown her how to play a few notes. The next lesson wasn't to be free, so it never happened. They had simply told her to figure it out herself. It had been a chore for a long time. But it wasn't anymore. It was the one real thing she could play with, so she did. She was fairly sure that sometime during Marge's visit, she would be asked to play. They were showy people. They couldn't help not show her off, if it would make them look good.

The notes made everything right. Her letter would be discussed. Marge wasn't so bad. Sure, last time Marge came, she had wound up being bitten in the leg once, but it wouldn't happen again. There was the distinct sound of a car rolling into the drive. Vernon had skived off of work early again, either that or Friday traffic had mysteriously disappeared. She played a little more, waiting for them to get their greetings out of the way. They didn't like the ruckus of the piano playing if they were watching the television.

Wondering to herself if they would be reading her letter, she made her way to the icebox, where she retrieved Vernon's favorite beer, then to the drawer for a bottle opener. Both in hand, she made her way to the living room, where they would be lounging on the couch. They were talking.

"And Mrs. Polkiss was taking Dudley and a few others out to celebrate the last day." She offered the beer and opener to Uncle Vernon, who opened it and returned her the opener and the cap, without comment.

Upon arriving to primary school, her teachers had been amazed at how quickly she picked up reading and numbers. But she needed to, in order to be able to cook. She had been told to help out in the kitchen for as far back as she could remember. Cooking, like many other tasks they assigned was a nice indoor task.

In fact, it turned out, that the only moderation they had in making her work for them was when people noticed. She recalled a week past when they had sat down with a calendar, and made various marks for which days they would assign her some work outside. Reviewing the calendar later, she noted it worked out to three times a week. She agreed – it would probably go unquestioned by the nosiest of neighbors.

It was similar to the dinner parties they were so fond of throwing. She would prepare a vast array of food in advance, and then her Aunt Petunia would attempt to cook it once guests arrived. Perhaps, however, they should be forgiven a little, for making her cook. She would rather cook, in fact, than try to eat her Aunt's foul and often burn concoctions.

Dudley was arriving, which could be noticed by the creaking of the house, the slamming of doors, and cheery voices from the living room. She dished up some food onto her plate, and placed the rest on the table. She poured herself a glass of water, and walked to the living room to announce dinner. Dudley was busy describing all of the flavors of ice cream he'd tried as she arrived. She didn't say anything, her arrival, plate in hand made it obvious to Dudley, who quickly scampered out toward the kitchen. Watching their retreating backs only for a second, she turned off the television, grabbed the empty bottle, and went to her cupboard to eat.

Food had never really been a problem for her. Sometimes she was punished with no meals, but that was a fairly rare punishment. Besides, it was too much trouble for them to enforce, as they wanted their food more than her punishment. It's hard to starve a cook. Still, she had learned to eat quickly, just incase something went wrong.

She returned her dishes to the kitchen, and they were all eating merrily. They ignored her, and she them. She tossed the wash into the dryer, set it for an hour, and headed to the front door. The gleeful feeling of escape wasn't fulfilled until she turned the corner of Privet Drive. She walked, and dreamed. She dreamed of getting out of primary. And making friends with a bunch of girls at Stonewall. Maybe a guy. And he'd beat up Dudley for her. And they'd hang out together. Fall in love… Leave Surrey forever. Send them a postcard from Paris.

Everything was going well. Her punishments were over, and she'd sleep in her cupboard tonight. If only she could hold it back. The… the weird stuff. The uncontrollable stuff. As long as nothing around her shrunk or grew, turned colors when it shouldn't… Yes, well, as long as nothing happened. But there were ways to prevent that from happening randomly. Having reached the park, she stopped briefly at the baseball green. She had to get rid of it. Rid of it before it spilled over the top in front of them. Especially with Marge coming. Freakishness in front of company was intolerable.

Kneeling down in the outfield, she felt around for it. It was elusive. She dug her hands into the ground, still warm and damp from a day in the sun. Her fingers worked about the grass and into the dirt, as she reached for it. It was like searching for a lost memory. Then she had it. And let it flow out. First in a trickle, then a stream, rushing through her body and into the ground, the grass, all about. It didn't last more than a few minutes. Then it was a trickle again, then a few drops. Finally, she stood, shakily as always and almost exhausted, yet not at all tired. If she could just keep it down. It never left for long. Still, she noted with some pride, that she was walking through the greenest field in the park. She hoped the groundskeepers wouldn't mind mowing it again.

It scared her. It was powerful, more powerful than she could possibly be. It did things which could not be done – should not be done. And it was not tolerated by them. They knew about it; oh they knew. It was not to be used, they said. The punishments for using it were always the worst sort. Her thoughts could not linger on it today though. Today was a good day. She'd just keep her little problem under control. Then everything would be fine.

* * *

**July 1991**

She woke up to the click of the mail slot, and the flop of letters on the floor down the hall. If they had been here, she would have been woken already, but there had been little to do since the family had left her. Marge had invited them on vacation with her to the Isle of Wight. After promising, of all things, to not blow up the house, they had decided to leave her home alone. Most of her chores had disappeared with them. She ate at the table. She slept on the couch, and watched television. She played an arcade game on Dudley's computer.

Today, she would be spending the whole day with her friends from Stonewall, Megan and Stephanie. She shook her head and pulled herself off of the couch. A nice, long shower was in order. Longer than her allotted 12 minutes anyway. First although, was breakfast. She paused in the hall, scooped up the two letters and off the doormat and turned toward the kitchen.

Three neat piles of mail were on the counter by the phone. A brown envelope which looked like some sort of bill joined Aunt Petunia's pile. The next letter however, was an apparent missive from her dear family. Who else would write a letter to 'The Cupboard under the Stairs'? She tossed it on the kitchen table, and stuffed the last two slices of bread in the toaster.

Meanwhile, she picked up the letter, popped the wax seal. How quaint. What was this envelope made of anyway? Maybe they'd stopped by the gift shop of some old castle. Or gone to a renaissance fair. The paper inside was the same thick parchment, and written with the an unfamiliar hand.

_Dear Ms. Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. _

_Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31__st_

_Yours sincerely,  
__Minerva McGonagall  
__Deputy Headmistress_

Wait, what? There were schools? For people like her? A whole school of freaks? No, not freaks. See? It says witches and wizards. She was a witch, well, then that made some sense. Her toast popped up, and she spread it with butter. A witch. They must know. They'd known all along. Funny - she couldn't remember selling her soul to the devil. Maybe they had done it for her. She scratched her head. Could they even do that? She dug in the envelope for an equipment list. Wiping a stray crumb off of her letter, she wondered sarcastically if 'Magical Drafts and Potions, by Arsenius Jigger' would be available at the local bookstore. And what the heck did they mean by 'We await your owl'? There was a hoot from outside the window, making her jump. Her toast leapt out of her hand and landed on the floor. A rather large owl ruffled it's feathers right outside the picture window.

And her toast, had landed butter side down. Picking it up, she brought it over to the garbage. The 31st. They wouldn't get back until the 29th. What would they say? What would they do? Well, she supposed she could always tell them she wouldn't be coming later. But where could she get all of this? How could she pay for this? She sighed and dropped her dishes beside the sink. Didn't they have a brochure or something?

_Dear Headmistress,_

_I cannot say if I will be attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. My Aunt and Uncle are currently on vacation, and I will undoubtedly need their approval. What is there to learn? Why should I go? Where do you purchase the supplies on the Equipment list? How much will all this cost? I doubt I can afford most of this._

_Sincerely,  
__Ms. Potter_

At first, she was afraid that the owl would be spooked, but once she stepped outside, it flew over and landed, on her arm of all places. Rolling the paper of her letter tightly, she stuck it within the bird's outstretched talons. The bird gave another hoot, and with a few quick strokes of its wings, it became a tiny dot disappearing in the morning sky. She was probably going to be late to Megan's now.

She was unable to remove thoughts of the mysterious letter while taking a shower, or while getting dressed. Potions? Transfiguration? Charms? Would there be fairies or elves? Was Santa Claus real for wizards and witches? She might have believed that the letter was part of an elaborate ruse they set up to trick her, but she knew they had no sense of humor. The letter did not leave her mind completely until she could see Megan's house.

In fact, it soon disappeared entirely. Stephanie, Megan had both come from different primary schools, yet all three had become friends within the first week. They weren't the only friends she had made, but they lived within walking distance and had somehow been in all of the same classes first semester. She didn't give another thought to the letter until she opened the front door to find another thick yellow envelope on the doormat.

Her curiosity rushing back to her, she tore off her shoes, grabbed up the letter and opened it on her way to the kitchen. There was a full page of parchment inside.

_Dear Ms. Potter,_

_It pains me to hear that you had not been told of the wizarding world earlier. Both of your parents, Lily and James, both attended and graduated from Hogwarts School. From your letter, it appears that your Aunt and Uncle knew less than we believed. I will try to address your questions as best I can, but I fear detailed answers will have to wait until we meet in person. _

_Firstly, I can assure you that unless you have suddenly died, you will be attending Hogwarts. Your parents secured you a spot at our institution before you were born. At Hogwarts, you will learn how to manipulate magic, through various methodologies. I assure you, that there is a lifetimes' worth of study available to you in any of a million areas in magic. _

_Your parents left you a moderate sum of money, which should be sufficient to pay for your supplies through your years at Hogwarts. The supplies on your list can be purchased in any number of places in Britain. As you have no working knowledge of the wizarding world, I have arranged for you to come to one such place, Diagon Alley, with a number of students who come from non-magical families. _

_There is a slip of parchment in this envelope, be sure to have a hold of it at the date and time proscribed, and properly dressed._

_Yours sincerely,  
__Minerva McGonagall  
__Deputy Headmistress_

Folded inside the letter was a small piece of parchment which read on one side:

**Ministry of Magic Approved Portkey  
**#6309-2236  
_Single User_ –_ Round Trip_  
_Little Whinging_ TO _Diagon Alley Portkey Point Three (DA-PT3)  
_Departure:_ July 28th - 9:00 am_

Her parents… Had gone to Hogwarts. She had sometimes wished to know more about her parents. Had hoped they were out there somewhere, and would find her someday. Lost perhaps. They suddenly had names. Lily Evans. James Potter. They were never mentioned in the house. When she had asked them, she had simply gotten no response. Just none at all. And now it was clear. A witch and a wizard. She had to find out more.

AN: Very short chapter; I suppose unfit the title really, but the next one will fully make up for it. We hope.  
AN: She is as of yet unnamed. Any ideas? Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter II

Standard Disclaimer: I don't own the potter franchise. Insert witty comment here 

**Chapter II: **_**This time, it's not Chapter I.**_

The repaired alarm clock rang at seven o'clock on the morning of the twenty eighth. She turned it off quickly, sprang off the living room sofa, and made for the stairs. She showered and dressed quickly in her best Stonewall uniform. She spent far to much time matting her hair down to something reasonable looking, and dashed to the kitchen. She tried to eat some of the dry cereal from the cupboard, but couldn't stomach it. At eight fifty, she was at the door, shoes on, schoolbag in one hand, and the slip of parchment clenched in her right hand.

There was no clock in the entrance hall. Time passed slower than it ever had before. She wondered how the parchment worked. Would someone find her, and pick her up? Was she supposed to use it to find them? What if it expected her to be driven there? Would it just show her directions? Maybe the Dursleys had acquired a sense of humor. It seemed like ten minutes had past… Maybe more? The parchment didn't do anything.

She suddenly had the oddest sensation. For almost two years now, she had avoided the Dursleys ire by releasing her magic into the ground so she wouldn't do it accidentally. It had always felt like a sweet, comforting sensation as it flowed out at her command. But for an instant, there was a similar but new sensation. A chill of magic hit through her, as a physical pull grabbed behind her naval and jerked her forward, off the ground; the parchment suddenly locked in place, the hallway spun, she spun, there was a howl of wind, the hallway became a blur- Then abruptly, the spinning stopped. She tried to get her feet back under her and might have succeeded if she hadn't landed on a bunch of cobblestones. She swayed wildly, toppled and landed on her butt in a very undignified manner.

A woman with a kind smile offered her a hand, which she gladly took. She tried to ignore the giggles and snorts from a group a ways off. She gawked; there was so much to take in. She was standing on the edge of a large alley full of people milling about, most wearing long robes or cloaks, carrying a vast array of purchases. It was all quite confusing. She realized that the woman who helped her up had said something she didn't quite catch,

"Sorry, what was that?"

"Hmm, Oh, I said that it's a devilishly tricky way to travel, by portkey. Well, Ms. Potter, come along. And stay with the group! Lots of people about today, mind you, less than some days but then, Diagon alley is never quiet."

"I'm sorry, but ah, who are you?" She thought it sounded a bit rude, but really she was quite confused by everything, and not to mention a little dizzy.

"Oh, yes of course, I'm sorry. I am Charity Burbage, or Professor Burbage, or just professor if you like. I teach muggle studies at Hogwarts." The professor said this, and everything else, very fast. She allowed herself to be led over to a group of people her age, who looked very normal compared to the rest of the place. They too, were looking about as if they had never been here.

She wanted to ask what on earth muggles were, and why they needed studying, but they had joined the group, and the professor announce they would first be stopping off at Gringotts Bank where they could trade their money into galleons. The professor went briefly went into what the money was worth and the average daily exchange rate, a discussion which she barely followed. She tried to ask a girl with bushy brown hair but was shushed. So instead she fell back a little and murmured her question to the black boy.

"What does muggle mean?"

"I think it's like a person who can't do magic." She nodded, thoughtfully. It made some sense now. She extended her hand to him, as they paused in front of a great big marble building with bronze-glass doors.

"I'm Kira Potter."

"Dean Thomas. This is Terry," He nodded over at the boy to his right; they exchanged nods as they walked through the door.

"Enter, stranger, but take heed…" Some sort of warning against theft it looked like, and soon enough she was inside, and the professor was directing everyone to a counter before pulling her aside.

"This is your vault key; I believe your parents left you a trust fund – a limited amount each year until you come of age. I don't believe you'll need more than a hundred galleons to get everything you need today. Tuition has already been arranged, dear, so no worries about that. You'll have to see a goblin about going to your vault. Just show them your key, and tell them you want to visit your vault."

And with that, she was directed to another counter. Behind it sat a green creature, short in stature, with a pointed beard and long curling fingers wrapped about a quill, with which it was writing something that looked like gobbledygook.

She tried once to speak to it, but no words came out. She swallowed and tried again. "Eh, excuse me"

Its eyes danced upwards only for a second before looking back at the paper. "State your business"

"I- ah- I'd like to make a withdrawal." She placed the key on the counter.

A grunt came in response. Then the goblin looked up at her finally, dropping its quill in the inkwell nearby. It examined the key for a few moments before returning it. "The goblin over there by the door will escort you to your vault."

Feeling only slightly like a hot potato, she approached the doorway. The goblin there waved her through into a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. It sloped steeply downward and there were little railway tracks on the floor. They waited for a moment, as another couple of wizards were approaching. The first one paused for a moment at the door, and gave an annoyed look in her direction. The second one paused behind the first, obviously wondering about the holdup. In a second, the first wizard noticed the second. "Ah, Twiddle! Go ahead if you'd like, I'd rather not ride with a mudblood." He said the last half with a sneer.

Twiddle apparently had no such reservations, and stepped neatly about the other wizard and into the passage. He wore a deep, plain maroon robe, and a small smile. The goblin turned to the caverns and whistled. A moment later, a small cart raced up the tracks toward them. They climbed in; Twiddle and the goblin with a practiced ease, and her after a moment. And they were off, hurtling through space. Twiddle spoke a bit above the din of the cart wheels and wind, in a somewhat jovial tone. "Excuse my friend back there; he's a bit of a nutter when it comes to bloodlines."

She nodded, and shrugged. It was hard to think about the exchange as they flew along the tracks with impossible speed. One part had caught her interest though. "What is a mudblood?"

The man grinned. "Ah, well, bit of a story there. Bloodlines are the biggest fracture of debate within the wizarding world. Generally speaking, if your parents were both magical, you're called a pureblood. Those with one magical parent tend to be called half-bloods. Now that's a misnomer if there ever was one. When both your parents are muggles, you're a muggleborn, or as my eloquent friend would say, a mudblood."

The cart slowed, and Twiddle hopped out at the vault. He gave the goblin his key, and soon enough, had returned with a sack full of jingling coins. Idly, she wondered the difference between stalagmites and stalactites. Stalagmites came from the floor? That was probably it.

Upon returning to the cart, Twiddle spoke up again. "The real problem underlying the whole mess of blood tends to boil down to one point. Remember this miss. There is no such thing as a muggleborn."

The cart kept speeding up, it seemed, and she was took a moment to stick her head out the side of the cart. The air was getting a bit cooler, and finally, after a bit, they slowed to her vault. She copied what Twiddle had done, giving her key to the goblin, but before she could step off of the cart, Twiddle put a hand on her shoulder. He was looking at her awfully strangely. After a second, he found his voice.

"Take whatever you're going to, and three more galleons." It was an odd request, and she had no idea why, but she counted out as much as the professor had advised her, and then slipped three more galleons in her pocket. The heaps of shiny, multicolored coins amazed her. The big sack of galleons she took didn't seem to make a dent. The rest of the ride was in silence.

It wasn't until they had arrived back to the stone hallway back to the Gringotts lobby that they spoke again. Twiddle began.

"My name's Mallory Twiddle. And unless I'm off my rocker, your name is Kira Potter." She nodded, quite surprised and he continued. "Keep those lovely bangs of yours over that scar of yours for now. Got your three galleons? Good. If you're bright, you'll use them to buy yourself a year's subscription to the daily prophet." They stepped into the foyer, where Twiddle disappeared, and she returned to the group just in time to see Terry step away with his own sack of coins.

The bushy haired witch was watching everyone with consummate interest, while Dean Thomas looked like he was bored. "Where'd you go off to?" he asked, as they passed back into the alley. She was spared from having to respond by the bushy haired girl who introduced herself as Hermione Granger. They stopped first at Madam Malkin's, a robe shop. Together, the filled the shop quite well. One at a time, they were measured and fitted for school robes. While they were waiting, they examined the fabrics – and even encountered a roll of what claimed to be dragon hide.

"You really think there are dragons?" Terry asked, leaning over her shoulder for a better look. "Like giant scale-covered-flying, fire breathing…things?"

"Maybe." Hermione said, examining a roll of thick, fluffy, transparent cloth. "There are dragon hide gloves on our list too."

Goblins. Dragons. It was fascinating. She wanted to know, to experience, to see. Curiosity had always driven her. Curiosity was the result of living with the drab and dry Dursleys, where nothing was exciting. All too soon she was quickly called away to be fitted.

There was no way that she could get a pet, she though sadly as she strolled through the Magical Menagerie. Hermione wasn't getting one either. They were examining tortoises when she noticed the sign on the squished three story building across the street. The words 'Daily Prophet' rang in her ears. She called the professor over from the door.

"The daily prophet's a newspaper, right? I was thinking I might buy a copy to learn what's going on in the wizarding world."

Professor Burbage mulled this over for a moment before replying. "Yes, well, as long as you go with someone, ah, Ms. Granger? If you wouldn't mind?" Hermione nodded. "Well then, go ahead. But come right back."

With a quick "Thanks!" the two of them headed for the door.

"Oh, and remember you two. Don't believe everything you read."

They stepped over one of the sleeping cats outside, and into the street, now even more cluttered. They dodged across, avoiding a couple of wizards and a bald man without any ears. A miserable little creature wearing only a bit of cloth hobbled down the street murmuring "Master wants, Master wants"

Hermione looked about to say something when a black blur flew overhead. Hermione shrieked and stumbled back, bumping into Kira. The black blur looked like a broom rider. They swooped down somewhere down the alley and out of sight. Laughing, slightly now, they both ducked into the Prophet offices.

There was no line for the receptionist, who accepted the three galleons, and took her name. It was the name that gave the woman a start. She stared, than stuttered something before composing herself. This was getting weird. Why did all these people seem to know her? Finally, the receptionist had filled out the necessary papers and, assured her that she would receive a copy, by owl, anywhere in the English commonwealth, seven days a week. The receptionist handed her a copy of the day's paper. Figuring she could read it later, she let Hermione take a look as they headed back across the street.

"Oh look, there's the minister of magic!" Hermione pointed excitedly. The man waved merrily back at them in the photo, before turning and talking to someone off the page.

"Minister confirms Girl-Who-Lived will be attending Hogwarts!" She read the title to Hermione. "Wonder who that could be?"

"Well, I'm sure we'll find out once we get there!" Hermione replied. Kira tucked the paper under her arm as the rest of the group straggled out of the Menagerie and into the street. Soon they had reached the far end of the alley, and at it was a shabby, narrow shop. "Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C." was printed below the name in peeling gold letters. They trounced into the dusty shop, waiting idly for a moment – for what, everyone seemed unsure.

Mr. Ollivander appeared out of the shelves, frowned slightly at them, before stepping forward to speak. He spoke softly, and she had a hard time catching much of it over the swishing of cloths, creak of floorboards and shuffling of feet. She caught a bit. "A wand chooses a wizard." And, "No other wand will work as well for you."

Then the fittings began. He called them forward, one by one. Mr. Ollivander pulled out a silver measuring tape, which floated about, taking measurements. Then he would disappear into the back shelves of the shop and bring out a few wands. Normally within a couple of tries, he would have a good wand selected for each person. With each fit, there was something of a firework, with glowing sparks flying all over the shop. He finally led her off a bit to his erratic measuring tape.

"Which is your wand arm?" He inquired, and she held out her right. The magical tape measure went to work, and Ollivander spoke again. "Yes, yes. I wondered if I'd be seeing you soon. It seems only yesterday your mother was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charms work. Your father on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration."

Ollivander leaned in again, so close they were almost touching. But Ollivander's eyes were on her forehead, not her own eyes. A finger split her bangs and ran across the lightning bold scar on her forehead.

"Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful. And in the wrong hands… well, if I'd known…

Mr. Ollivander disappeared into his shelves, and she was left wondering. Sure, the scar had always been there. But why would he know how she got that scar? Was that how Mr. Twiddle had known her name too? Why did everyone seem to know her? Before she could ponder this more, the aged wand maker had returned.

She tried wand after wand. Three, then six, then a dozen. Each time a wand failed, Ollivander's smile got larger and larger, until finally, after disappearing into the back of the shop for a full minute returned with yet another wand.

"Unusual combination, holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple." She took the wand in almost a tired and exhausted way. But this was no stick. Her magic jumped its bounds, unlike it ever had. She panicked, as if trying to catch it, but too late; a large stream of red and gold sparks roared out.

"'bout time!" Justin, said as they left the wand shop. She nodded, glad to be free of the gaze of the old man's eyes. And the whispering voice, who had informed her that her wand, was unusual; a brother to the wand that had scarred her. And to think she used to blame that scar on the Dursleys.

It was now past lunch, and they were hurried along by the professor, who pulled them from shop to shop; now checking her watch and pulling them away from stores. She had to take Hermione by the hand to get her out of the bookstore, ("I just really wanted a book on wizarding customs, that's all") and threatened to hex Terry and Dean if they idled anymore outside Quality Quidditch Supplies ("Does a quarter mile in less than ten seconds! Top speed of 312 miles per hour! Dang!").

It was a whirlwind of magic and people. There were more sentient creatures than seemed possible. Terry whispered in her ear that he thought he saw a vampire walking about with an umbrella. She was pretty sure she had seen the hidden book of hiding, but when she looked again it had vanished. And there was no time to stop and look for it; grab your quills, and an inkwell, and go. Promising herself she would one day return to slowly browse the shops, she allowed herself to be steered back toward the part of the alley they had arrived from.

The professor was talking to her again. "I think your time here is just about done. Your return time should be any minute now." Pulling her parchment portkey out of her bag, she checked the return time. The professor pressed a train ticket into her hand, and said "Your ticket for Hogwarts. First of September. Kings Cross Station. It's all on the ticket." Then the professor was off. Kira waved goodbye to the rest of the group, and took a hold of all of her stuff. The group disappeared through a brick archway to meet back up with their parents.

A cold chill and a yank about her naval later she landed on the doormat and the mail, at Privet Drive.

* * *

Ambrosius Flume, proprietor of Honeydukes, was reading the daily prophet at the bar of the leaky cauldron, when an old acquaintance ordered a gillywater on his right. "Twiddle, my man! How are you?"

Mallory shrugged. "Bloody Gringotts carts always give my head a bit of spin." He leaned over the bar. Tom was busy haggling with a two-headed man. He sighed and leaned back in his seat with a smirk. "Funniest thing down at Gringotts, Ambros."

"What's that?" Ambrosius said, dropping his newspaper on the bar. Really, the Cannons had lost by eight hundred? How was that even possible?

"You remember Gibbons from Hogwarts, no? Stupid hufflepuff kid, year or two ahead of us?"

"Oh yea. Tried to get cozy with anybody who could trace their lineage past a grandparent?"

"Not too mention a wannabe death eater."

"Yea. But he was a year or two late to get a chance. What's up with him?"

"Guess who he calls a mudblood today?"

"Gosh. Anyone? A goblin?"

"Hah, that would be funny!" Twiddle chuckled. "Kira Potter."

"What? Hah!" Ambrosius let out a laugh.

"So much for gillywater." Twiddle said, rising from his stool. "Some time soon," He said, raising an invisible glass to his friend.

"I'll drink to that."

Kira Potter. Ambrosius scratched his chin. From the line of an old yet minor wizarding family. Not a true pureblood. And not really a half-blood either. The mixing supporters would play to her mother; the purists to her father. Of course, she would have to survive seven years sheltered by the hand of Albus Dumbledore. And who really knew what that man was up to? And why the hell had he turned down the minister's position? Sure, it was well known that Fudge pelted Dumbledore with owls everyday asking for advice; but Fudge was no loyalist. He'd turn on his own mother if it helped him politically. It was a maddening, stupid world out there, and so Ambrosius did all he could to help Kira Potter. He wished her good luck.

* * *

The excitement of the day took a while to wear off. She tried to calm down by doing all of her tasks about the house, finishing her bowl of cereal. She watered the plants outside and then tried to watch television. Four days ago, getting to sit down and watch without interruption had been exciting. Now her mind couldn't be distracted by the loudest of car commercials or the saddest of dramas. Finally giving in, she extracted the daily prophet from her cupboard, turned off the TV and began to read it.

_Speaking today to the Wizarding Press community of the British Isles, the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, announced that The-Girl-Who-Lived will be attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Kira Potter, in case you've been living under a rock all these years, is known for the defeating of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named on Halloween night, nine years ago, in Godric's Hallow._

Wait. What? She did what? And who the heck was this unnamed guy? How could she have defeated him – when she was little more than a year old?

_Very little is known about Ms. Potter's appearance besides that she has a lighting bolt scar on her forehead. No current pictures are available, as Ms. Potter has been made unplottable to protect her from any of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named followers. Continued…_

As she read over the last line, the article changed, shimmering and spinning the letters. The headline remained, but the picture changed to one a family photo. The caption noted: _Lily and James Potter announce the birth of Kira L. Potter (D.P. Archive)_ This was her parents' world. And hers, if they would take her. The article continued on.

_According to the ministry, Ms. Potter has been living with her muggle relatives since the incident. As such, there is little merit to most of the speculation which has surrounded the entrance of a hero to the wizarding world. It is probably a practical to assume she knows only a little more than most muggleborn students about the magical community. Headmaster Albus Dumbledore garnered a unique bit of legal authority over Ms. Potter at the end of the last war. We shall hope that he uses this authority to introduce an unbiased view of the wizarding world and politics to someone bound to be such an influential figure. _

There with more expectations. First the wispy Ollivander, who had whispered "I think we can expect great things from you." Now this; and "bound to be such an influential figure." What did they expect her to do? She knew just enough about the magical world to know she knew nothing at all. Was Hogwarts biased? Impossible to tell at for sure, but the article sounded as such.

She spent over an hour perusing the Daily Prophet. There were scores and play by plays of Quidditch; some sort of sport played on broomsticks. The rules were unclear, but it had something to do with throwing balls through hoops, and trying to catch the elusive snitch. Highlights of the games tended to involve high speed crashes, broken bones and too many spectators throwing spells onto the field. It was sort of like a mix of auto-racing and football.

Foreign news detailed the attack of a Goblin bank in Brazil by a coordinated rebel attack. Thick billowing smoke was coming out of the windows and doors in the picture. In another, the goblin managers were insisting that nothing had been taken from any of the high security vaults. A number of specific individuals in the government had been targeted among the medium security vaults, only one attempt was successful. It was almost reassuring in its familiarity. The article finished with a positive note that the Gringotts Goblin Bank of England had yet to have a break in since the fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

But for each article that made sense, another dealt with some topic of which she couldn't make sense of. She might has well have flipped open a book on solving differential equations, or a copy of Dante's Inferno in its original Italian. She finally folded the paper back up. The picture of her parents and her was cut out and tacked to a stair in her closet. It was just next to her fourth grade report card. The only time she had gotten all A's. It was most of the reason she'd gotten into Stonewall. Sadly, she hadn't been able to find Mrs. Carol's letter in the trash. She suspected her uncle had burned it in the fireplace.

Leaving the Dursleys meant leaving her friends; the few friends she'd ever had. It was a retch. Yet at the same time, it was never really a consideration. There was too much excitement to the magical world. And far too much appeal to leaving the Dursleys behind.

* * *

The Dursleys would arrive back from vacation sometime around noon the next day. She resolved that she would confront them the instant they returned. It all played out very neatly in her mind. They would walk in the front door, and she would demand that they tell her about her parents. She was quite ready. Her opening line - "Why didn't you tell me my parents were magical" Ok, so it wasn't the best line. But she would do it! Rebellious fever had struck her.

Oddly, her subscription from the Daily Prophet had not arrived. The woman had said it was delivered every morning by owl. Deciding it must take a few days, she disappointedly put it out of her mind.

Then, finally, she heard the car pull up to the house, and doors slam. Resolutely, she picked herself up, and headed to the door. She opened it as her uncle was coming up the steps. She stepped forward to the doorway – and stumbled back to avoid the large suitcase that he heaved inside. By the time she recovered her uncle was heading back toward the car.

Dudley shifted in too, with his suitcase, which he left in the doorway before heading to the kitchen. Fine. She didn't want to talk to him anyway. Somehow, she always managed to forget exactly how fat he was. There was simply no way they could both fit in a doorway. Moving back to the door in Dudley's wake, she could see Uncle Vernon had grabbed the last suitcase and Aunt Petunia was following shortly behind. 'This is it, say it now!' half her mind screamed. In fact, it turned out to be much less than half. More of a vocal minority. Aunt Petunia had begun saying something about Marge's connecting flight, to which Uncle Vernon grunted, they shouldered past her, and she was left with the luggage in the doorway.

She had failed. Angry with herself, she shut the door with a little more force than she intended. Her uncle shot her a look of contempt and followed the rest into the kitchen. She was a coward, and she knew it. Furious with herself she threw her weight into her uncle's suitcase. They would be expecting her to be done sorting out their vacation by tomorrow.

They hadn't felt like going to the store to pick up more food, so they had ordered delivery food. It arrived while she was stuffing Uncle Vernon's suitcase back into the bedroom closet. On the bright side, it was one less thing to do. On the other hand, while the Dursleys ordered enough food for four, they ate it too.

She was in a foul mood all evening. Looking back, she had never really stood up to them before, so why would she think she could now? But she would have to tell them sometime. There was a fairly large trunk in her cupboard which was going to get noticed. Maybe she could smuggle it out of the house some night. She scraped the tiny bars of hotel soap and miniature shampoos from the bottom of Aunt Petunia's suitcase, and dropped them off in her cupboard. Aunt Petunia would never uncap a bottle of anything but her favorite berry scented shampoo.

A little after ten o'clock, her Aunt and Uncle had headed to bed. Dudley was watching The Hunt for Red October, which he had gotten for his birthday but never gotten around to watching. After dropping the folded cloths from the first wash outside her Uncle's door, she returned downstairs. The next wash was far from dry, so she dropped onto the couch next to her cousin. For a while they sat in silence.

"Get me some chips." Dudley said finally, not taking his eyes off the screen.

"There aren't any."

"So go buy some."

She snorted. "Yep. I'll just pull some imaginary pounds out of my pocket, go to the imaginary store on the corner that is still open, and I'll buy you these imaginary chips," she flung out her empty hands, as if offering a giant invisible bag of chips to Dudley.

He gave a little chuckle. "Well what do we have?"

"We have some flour."

"So you can make bread?"

"Yep, with my imaginary supply of yeast." She paused. "We could mix it with water…"

"What's that called?"

"Paste."

"Yea, let's have some paste for a midnight snack." Dudley said, shaking his head. "So what have you been eating?"

"Everything left in the cupboards? Which is why they're empty?"

"Get me a soda then."

She sighed. But she pulled herself off the couch. She missed the empty house already. Someday, she thought, she would live like her batty old neighbor Mrs. Figg. Alone with her cats. Nobody bugging her. Nobody telling her what to do.

Once Dudley went to sleep, she pulled out one of her school books. Her name was in A History of Magic, by Bathilda Bagshot so she decided to try and find out more about her mysterious identity in the magical world. Not daring to let her relatives notice the cover in case they came down in the night, she stole over to the living room bookcase and swapped the dust cover from a book of similar size. She sat down to read on the floor in front of the couch. It turned out that she was noted only once in the book. But the book did detail the rise of a certain Lord Voldermort, which turned out to be the name of the mysterious He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Somehow, the book alluded to something else though. Voldermort wasn't quite dead yet. She wasn't quite sure how that worked. How could you be alive without a body?

But the book was obviously not very thorough. There was no way that Voldermort had gained so much power in England, so much influence, just by happenchance and being evil. Turning to the beginning of the book, she began at the beginning.

_History in the wizarding world has been recorded, in various forms, for the past three millennia. Since the beginning of human existence, the world has contained magical and non-magical peoples. Humans are the only species of creature on earth to exhibit both magical and nonmagical forms within the same species. Early human history… _

The last wash finished up as her Uncle was waking up. A History of Magic had been returned to her cupboard, with a bookmark a little less than a third of the way through. She was intrigued to learn that the Centaurs, a half horse, half human had once controlled almost all of South America, and were allied against the ICF – the International Confederation of Wizards – with the Dark Elves of North America.

The milkman stopped by the house and delivered eggs, so she fried a couple for herself and her uncle. It wasn't until she had washed up the dishes from Dudley's breakfast that she finally went to sleep in her cupboard. She fell asleep gazing at the dimly lit photograph of her parents.

* * *

Weeks passed. The Daily Prophet failed to arrive. Life fell to its usual pace. She said not a word about magic to her Aunt and Uncle. But she was rapidly approaching a problem. The Hogwarts Express departed King's Cross, according to her ticket, on September 1st at eleven o'clock. And she had no way to get there. Besides her friends Megan and Stephanie, no one knew. The matter was avoided, and avoided. She would get around to it. Wait till the proper time.

So many brilliant ideas passed through her mind. If only she had bought an owl, she could ask for a portkey. If only she had converted a couple of galleons to pounds, she could get a taxi or a train ticket from the Surrey station. Her one practical plan of asking Mrs. Figg failed when it turned out she wouldn't be in town that week. But ultimately, the end of August arrived, and no great practical plan had surfaced.

"Uncle Vernon?" It was Saturday, and the express would be leaving for Hogwarts on Sunday. Desperate times lead to desperate measures. He grunted in reply.

"Could you take me to London tomorrow?" Her hands gripped the doorframe to the living room.

"What"

"Could you take me to London tomorrow?"

"Why on earth would you be going to London?" She didn't want to have to try to explain.

"Please?"

"There best be a damn good reason why you have to go to London." He stood up from the couch. His face was contorting to a bit of a sneer.

"I was accepted into a boarding school in Scotland. I need to catch the train."

He laughed. "A boarding school. In Scotland." Waving a pudgy finger at her, and shaking his head, he seemed to find this very amusing. "You're trying to get away from us, aren't you? Tut, tut, tut"

"I have to go." She tried, annoyed at her jovial dismissal.

"No, you have to do as we say. You're lucky we let you go to Stonewall."

"Lucky!" she hissed back "Lucky? I earned that you..." She stopped there, as Uncle Vernon's eyebrows began to rise. "And you were scared it would look bad."

"Now look here, missy. I don't know where you got these ideas of going off to this school, but you can be sure I won't be paying for it, so there's no use."

She shook her head. "You won't be. Money's not an issue. All I want is a ride to King's Cross."

"But it's irrelevant because your guardians aren't going to let you attend."

"I have to go."

"I'll be the judge of that. I make –"

"My parents made specific arrangements for me to go."

She paused for a breath. Uncle Vernon eyes had suddenly widened. His face darkened significantly. Her Uncle had always been very intolerant of her magical outbursts. She had spent the past two years carefully ridding herself of her magic solely because of the memory of the last time it had broken loose. Or more accurately, the memories of what her uncle had done. But now, Uncle Vernon was putting up an obvious effort to restrain himself.

"Your parents' school." His face was now fully purple. He seemed torn. "And these people contacted you, I presume."

"While you were on vacation. They gave me this –"

"I don't want to hear about any of your unnaturalness!" Uncle Vernon cut in.

"So you'll take me?" Uncle Vernon simply clenched and re-clenched his fists. She supposed that meant yes. "Thank you." And she all but ran out of the living room before her Uncle exploded.

She had made it out alive, and with a ride to King's Cross. With that in mind, the conversation with her uncle couldn't have gone better. She supposed the fear of witches descending on the house had scared him. But never mind that! She needed to pack.

She pulled her trunk from the corner of her cupboard, and onto her cot. After pulling everything out, she slowly fit everything back in at tightly as possible. The trunk probably could have held everything she owned. But maybe she should leave the sheets home. And the homework papers from stonewall. And the cloths that didn't fit anymore. In the end, there was a bit of junk which got left. Most stuff wasn't worth bringing anyway. The picture of her parents was neatly folded and slipped inside her defense book.

In the end, packing didn't take more than a half hour. It took a bit of doing to lift the trunk, but she could do it. They hadn't spent much time buying trunks in Diagon Alley. The other girl – what was her name again – had bought a 'featherweight trunk'. When the owner grabbed it correctly, it became completely weightless. The bushy haired girl had admitted that she was a bookworm, and books were heavy. Her trunk had a set of runes carved on the inside which reduced the weight by fifteen percent. It had been fairly standard, and cost a handful of galleons less.

There had been a huge pile of gold in her vault. But she had always made due with the little she had. Dudley was her alter ego; had plenty of money, spent it everywhere on needless junk he didn't even use. The most expensive thing she had ever bought for herself was five pence. She still had the wrapper somewhere. Granted, she had never had money either. But she would never act like Dudley, she swore to herself.

* * *

AN. Mallory Twiddle does not appear in the books, but is a creation of JKR. He was written into an edition of the Daily Prophet for the HP fan club. Mallory Twiddle wrote a letter to the Daily Prophet, complaining that Gringotts was using Sphinxes to guard its high security vaults. Apparently, Twiddle had encountered one of these guardians and had spent a frustrating hour trying to figure out its riddles. Eventually, the Sphinx chased him out of the bank. (HP Lexicon) He seemed like an amusing figure, and has some sort of business with both the Daily Prophet and Gringotts. He has an amusing little position on blood politics which will be expanded upon. Hopefully it will be as riveting to you, dear reader, as it is in my imagination.

On another note, thanks to a reviewer for providing our compelling protagonist with a name.

Thanks for reading.


	3. Chapter III

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. This is not the real McCoy. Not F-ing Close. But you knew that. After all, you read _Chapter II – This time it's not Chapter I_.

**Chapter III – In which Kira may get to Hogwarts. **

_(or she could tragically die in a car crash on the way to King's Cross. Tempting. Nice short story anyone? No? Fine.)_

It takes just under an hour to get to London from Surrey, which meant that they were almost halfway there as Uncle Vernon steered off of the M25 and onto the M4 going east. Her excitement had only increased, steadily. She was trying to stay calm, as she had already been told off once for bouncing in the seat. This was impressive, because she was usually not an emotional person.

They had left little room for any. With the exception of their blood relation, the Dursleys had never been her family. She clung instead to her surname; Potter. She was different than them. Both sides were sure of that. Dudley, on occasion would call her their servant. She wasn't offended by the title; she didn't want to be more. Heck, she would love to be less. But it was probably the best description.

The really dirty word though, was slave. Dudley had used that word just once. Aunt Petunia had docked him three months of allowance. But she would not use such a word. Maybe she was once. But she knew that she was free to leave. They would taunt her, torment her, and make her wait on them. But they were not all powerful. One phone call would leave the elder Dursleys in jail, and Dudley with his aunt. She knew she could. And strangely, that made everything … different. It made them at her mercy, not her at theirs.

Besides, life was downright good since she had learned to control the magic. Once, the magic had flared at any emotion. It had jumped out at any time. Her 'problem' as they had called it. Over time it had started to pop up more and more. And every time it did, she was punished. She tried, usually through tear filled eyes, to explain that she couldn't explain it, couldn't stop it. But they expected her to be able too. And then one day, she felt it. She had been in the living room, jealous of Dudley, when she realized what she'd been feeling, perhaps for a while, perhaps always. Perhaps it had just been too familiar.

She had clenched back on it. Clenching her fists seemed to help. It receded slightly, but would not back down completely. Not trusting her tenuous grip, she hadn't asked her Aunt for permission, and had slipped out the back door. She had run for it. Halfway to the park, she slowed, her feet aching. She had to fight it down again. Where she stopped, a small path ran into a clump of trees between houses. Slipping down the path, there was a small clearing. Some of the older kids came here to smoke, as evidenced by the forest floor. There was also a small fire pit, with a bunch of logs pulled around it.

It had been devoid of people for once. Which was lucky, because the magic had broke out as she sagged against one of the trees. The magic had flowed out, both comforting and rough simultaneously. Bright sparks had flown through the midday air. The tree groaned and creaked. And when it stopped coming out on its own, she found she could pull it out.

If the Dursleys were curious as to why her problem had miraculously disappeared, they had never said anything. Since, she had only lost control once. Her aunt had dug into her cupboard one day and thrown away all of her 'junk'. It had magically reappeared in her cupboard, the next day. The single act had given her a week of punishments. It had been a fitting last week to her time in primary school. Luckily, the Dursleys hadn't so much as looked in the cupboard since.

If they had, they might have tried to punish her earlier this summer for having a trunk full of spell books, a cauldron and a magic wand. Somehow though, she had made it. Uncle Vernon's voice brought her back to the present.

"What time does that train of yours leave?"

"Eleven o'clock. From platform nine and three-quarters."

At this, Vernon's head jerked, and he switched lanes, unintentionally. "Platform what? Mad! Barking mad!" he muttered a bit under his breath, for a bit. "Well," he said with a smile, "At least they gave you a _real_ time."

She frowned, and pulled out the ticket. The ticket definitely said nine and three-quarters. But these were people who made broomsticks that could fly faster than Vernon's car. They fixed broken bones with the wave of a wand. They raised the dead. Well, kind of. If they could do that, then they could have a platform nine and three-quarters.

The dividing line between the muggle and magical world was fraught with complication. Language was only one barrier. The wizarding world tended to discover things first. The magnification spell predated the microscope by millennia. Books on how electricity worked were in their ninth edition and sitting on a wizard's shelf hundreds of years before Michael Faraday built his generator. Magic allowed wizards to determine the speed of light. Split atoms. Fuse them. And here they lived, side by side to muggles, who were still busy trying to etch transistors in silicone. It was almost sad.

It should be noted that there isn't such a thing as a poor wizard; only a lazy one. A wizard with a wand and a head on his shoulders could transfigure himself food or charm his cloths warm, clean and new. The separation of economies was necessary, and was now heavily enforced. A single wizard, in a single day, can produce as much electrical energy as a small power plant. A witch can brew a fertilizer that creates bumper crops even in bad weather, or in a day instead of a year. It seems obvious in retrospect. But there are logical consequences.

One such consequence, Kira had realized, and confirmed by her textbooks, was that the magical world subsidized muggle to magical currency trades. On the black market, galleons sold for spectacularly high rates. Muggleborns were given a way in; the currency was pegged. This was undoubtedly controversial and it explained one piece of the blood animosity. She was sure there was more to it; a lot more.

Other things had bothered her as well. From the newspaper, she had deducted that she was famous. She couldn't be found because she was unplottable; presumably a safety precaution. Which was why the newspaper couldn't find her. But then how did her Hogwarts letter find her? How was it able to know where she lived down to the cupboard? Someone must be able to figure out where she was. Either that or they had sent the owl to the physical address and not her. This would imply they knew, through some other method, that she lived in the cupboard. It was strange, because neither she nor the Dursleys let that information out. Even Marge, Vernon's sister, thought Kira lived in Dudley's second room.

Perhaps she was only somewhat unplottable. She would have to try to meet the headmaster, who seemed very interconnected with her parents, Voldermort and everything. Maybe he could finally put to rest some of the questions that the books only seemed to create for her. Then again, he might not want to talk about it. A lot of people had died in the war, after all. But she would have to try.

Soon enough, Vernon's car pulled into the maze of parking lots surrounding King's Cross. Her uncle pulled her trunk out of the boot, and placed it on a cart. He hesitated then, nodded to himself, and cast a critical eye at her. "They'll send you home for Christmas, I presume?" She shrugged. He cast an exasperated look at her before getting in the car.

She watched it until it disappeared out of sight. It was just about ten o'clock. She wheeled the cart to the station, trying to avoid the milling patrons as she did so. It took some time, and the cart wasn't the easiest thing to push. She wasn't picked last in gym class, but she came close sometimes. She paused and sat back, after she arrived at elevated strip between platforms Nine and Ten. As she suspected, Platform Nine and Three-Quarters didn't appear. The only thing separating platforms nine and ten was a brick conductor's station, with a big plastic sign on each side, demarking the platform number.

There was a train unloading on platform ten, which added to a lot of people milling about. Funnily enough, there were other people coming on to the platform. The train seemed to be the end of the line. She lost track of one group then the next. The third group to pass her in, she kept a firm eye on. One second they had paused to lean on the conductor's station – HEY! They were gone. Congratulating herself, she worked her way over to the brick wall. If there was a magical key, then the next group through would have to pass her watch, and she could ask. She was impressed by the design though. If she hadn't been looking for another platform, she may have never noticed.

Her cart was about to bump the wall, when it suddenly didn't. The view of the brick wall vanished, and an entirely new platform opened up in front of her. Whipping her head around, she saw the same brick wall a few inches behind her. Turning back around, she pushed her trolley into the swirling mass of people. They were clearly wizards. Some had wands out, and here and there was a hovering piece of luggage, with its owner pushing it about. There were owls in cages, cats in their owners' arms or in carriers. Above the milling mass was a large wrought iron sign, declaring Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Another declared the Hogwarts Express, Eleven o'clock. A giant, scarlet, steam engine carried the same lettering – Hogwarts Express.

Kira didn't recognize anyone, but she doubted she could have. She worked her way to the train, bumped into a cat; the thing hissed at her. She scowled back at it. Finally, she got to the back end of the train, which was pretty empty. Leaving her cart, she heaved the trunk up the steps and into a compartment. It took a couple of heaves, really, between which she spent some time gasping for air and shaking her hands. There was a profound difference between lifting it and carrying it a ways. She finally managed to tuck it into the corner of an empty compartment.

Now tired and somewhat sweaty, she relaxed back into a seat by the window. Outside, the milling crowd slowly expanded, and as it did, other people began to trickle onto the car. A couple of people glanced in the car before shuffling down the corridor. Doubt chewed on her. She hoped someone would join her; it seemed everyone else had friends. But nobody dropped in. The platform gradually cleared; until there were only a bunch of parents standing on the station, and the few last minute arrivals hurrying onto the cars.

A whistle sounded. A couple of older boys clamored onto the car ahead, the last one walking along the platform as the train began to move. There was a flurry of waves from the people on the platform, and a number of students leaned out the windows to return a wave. A pair of younger girls, a redhead and a blond, ran to the end of the platform, waving all the way. And they were off.

A moment later the compartment door flew open. A black boy with dreadlocks stuck his head in for a second, and then disappeared. With the door open, she could hear his voice shout down the hall over the din of the moving carriage. "Oy! Fred! George! There's only one in here!"

"Looks like the best there is." Responded another voice. "Angelina and Kati have room for one." Wait – was that the same voice? "Next year, we need a specialized dung bomb."

Another voice continued. "Amen to that. One with a couple of antidotes and we'll hit a car."

The other boy cut in, "Or we could just get here on time."

"Yeah, like that'll happen." The voice skipped. "We gonna go in or just stand all day in the corridor?"

"Yea, yea." The dreadlocked boy said as he shuffled into the compartment, followed by two identical boys, both wearing matching cloths and sporting identical haircuts.

"Oh, Hello!" one of them said, while he waited for the other two to stow away their trunks. "Hope you don't mind, really, but everywhere else is just about full."

She gave a smile and a shrug, before turning to look out the window. There wasn't much exciting going on outside, but she felt suddenly awkward. Maybe she should leave, and try to find somewhere else. Before she could decide, the other twin had turned to her and offered her his hand.

"We're Fred and George, Weasley, you see? The guy who doesn't look like me is Lee."

"We'd invite you for tea" The other rejoined, collapsing across from her.

"But it'd only make you pee!" the first finished.

Lee rolled his eyes and made a sarcastic gesture of applause. "Such elegant poetry."

"Why thank you Lee." One of the twins said. "And you are?"

"ah – Kira." She paused. "Potter." She added lamely.

"Really!" - "Cool." – "Sweet." The three responded all at once, and she smiled.

"Really, Really."

"So you have the scar on her forehead, right?"

She nodded, and flipped up her bangs. It was funny to have all of them lean in for a better look.

"So…" one of the twins said in a conspiring tone, "Do you remember what you-know-who looks like?"

She made a face. "I was a year old. So I have no idea. D'you have any memories from when you were one?"

"Eh, no" the twin muttered, but they looked disappointed nonetheless.

"So why don't people say his name?" She asked.

"Cause if you do, you get a whack on the head." Lee Jordan said with a laugh.

"He terrified a lot of people."

"Killed a bunch of people." The twins took over.

"It is a little silly, isn't it? But out parents lived through it, and they'd rather not hear the name."

"But I mean, he'd dead and gone right?"

"Well…"

"Welllll" The twins drew this out a bit.

"Not really" Said Lee Jordan.

"He's not dead?" She asked, dread filling her.

"Lost his powers. Lost his body. But not quite dead." One of the twins said, mulling it over.

"Sort of like a wraith of a bodiless spirit."

"Like a ghost?"

"No, no… Ghosts are definitely dead."

"So could he regain his powers? Could he get a body somehow?" she asked, almost panicking. What had she gone and got herself into?

"Hard to say, really. Nobody has ever survived the killing curse. Not until you. Then it bounced off you, hit him… Who knows what went wrong with the curse? Why didn't it kill you? And if it couldn't kill you, could it kill him?"

"Dad says he was a bit afraid of death." The other twin began. "Went through all sort of rituals and things to keep him from dying.

"But he's really not the thing to worry about." Lee Jordan said. "The death eaters were. They did most of the killing, stealing and all that."

"Well sure, but still. He was the organizer, the planner, the mastermind of the whole thing." One of the twins argued back.

Lee wasn't so easily fazed. "But by himself, he was only a powerful wizard. A wizard who would always fear Dumbledore. A wizard who never dared attack Hogwarts, even at the height of the war!"

"Well, yes. No one wizard is more powerful than a dozen others combined." The twin relented. "But cut the head off the snake, and the body dies! No more death eater gatherings are there? See the dark mark lately?"

"Yea, sure, so they went home, took off their masks, put on some nice robes, and went back to business as usual. But they didn't die. Most of them slipped right out of sight as soon as he disappeared." Lee shook his head. "So now they vote what they want done into law. And they've had a nice majority ever since, because they got more of us then we got of them."

"Us? Them?" Kali asked, fascinated.

" 'They' are pureblood fanatics. Everyone else is us." Jordan explained.

"Oh."

"Well," the other twin returned. "It's not quite that simple. And Jordan, your tarantula is escaping."

Lee jumped up, crouched down in front of his trunk and a smaller white box in front of it Kira hadn't noticed. He began poking a couple of hairy legs back into the box with his wand.

"Oh cool!"

Lee grinned at her. "Want to touch it?" She nodded and leaned over to the box, and stroked one of the legs.

"That's so much cooler than my spiders ever were."

"You had spiders as pets?" One of the twins laughed. "Ron would love that."

Lee finally got all the legs back in, and sat back down in his seat. "Maybe you'll be in Gryffindor! Where the bravest of souls are!"

She shrugged. "I dunno about brave. I just always liked spiders. They would hang out in my cupboard and I'd watch them if I was bored."

"An odd pet." One of the twins said, as he looked out the window. They had passed out of the city and were rolling through the open countryside.

"My relatives hated pets of any kind." She shrugged. "So are you all in Gryffindor then?"

"But of course! The courageous!" – "The chivalrous!" – " The caring!" – "The creative"

"The crazy", Lee interrupted the twins.

"Yea that too!"

"So are you daring enough?"

Kira giggled at the antics. "eh, I doubt it."

"Well, if you're smart, you'll end up in Ravenclaw." – "Dunno, some of them seem pretty thick sometimes." – "Yea. And just think! That's their greatest talent!"

"Or if you're really sneaky, like a low down snake in the grass…" – "If you'd sell your mother for a sack of silver…" – "Slytherin" They finished in harmony.

"Isn't there a fourth?" she asked.

"Heh, yea. Hufflepuff." Lee said. "The misfit house."

"I still can't believe we lost to them last year in Quidditch."

"Stinkin' Diggory." – "We really need a new seeker." – "True that a thousand times over. Haven't come close since ol' Charlie left."

"And just a goal away too."

"Embarressing. Up by a hundred forty points to nil, then losing."

"Sounds like they could use some new chasers." Kira said.

"That's for sure. The three of them combined scored less than forty points all last season" Lee said.

"Lee does the commentary at the matches" one of the twins explained. "He's got every Hogwarts player's name memorized, and knows their broom type, their strengths, weaknesses…"

"Which makes him Oliver Wood's best friend." The other twin said. "Oliver's our captain. Bit of a Quidditch nut too. George and I are beaters."

"And the best pair at Hogwarts." Lee said. "Not as good as the Slytherins at hitting" Fred made a protesting noise, but Lee waved him off. "It's true. But beaters need to work together to work well. Read each others minds. Which is why Fred and George are the best. They're always together."

"That and we cheat" George said, grinning.

"We cheat?" Fred asked

"Of course."

"I didn't notice."

"Of course not. If it was noticeable, we would be caught."

"Ohh. That makes sense."

"Speaking of Oliver" Lee said, cutting off the twins. "Either of you seen him?"

"Nah. We barely made the train, remember? Between Percy having to polish his prefect badge and Ron remembering that he left his rat at home, took for bloody ever. Dad was about to hit the invisibility booster and fly there."

"You have a flying car?" Kira asked, surprised.

The twins shook their heads a little. "Well Dad's a bit nutters over muggle technology. He likes to figure out how muggle devices work by taking them apart. Sometimes, he'll enchant all the pieces, and put them back together."

"He's gotta be pretty good at charms to make a whole car fly." Jordan responded, obviously impressed. "And invisible too."

"No doubts there. It's funny. He works at the ministry, but doesn't want to get promoted out of the job he has. He likes to be on the ground, doing things. That and he'd have to split ways with Perkins… and they've been friends since before Hogwarts."

"What's he do?" Kira asked.

"Works in the misuse of muggle artifacts office. In theory, they're supposed to stop people like dad from charming muggle objects, like cars." Fred said.

George picked it up, "In reality, they just chase around people who give or sell enchanted objects to muggles. If they work out who did it, they might try to figure if it's malicious or accidental and if they're transacting unapproved commerce or not. Half of it deals with counterfeit muggle money though.

"Course," Lee said, "Wizards are sneaky. So they just make muggle currency which vanishes."

"Yea." George said. "That's a bit of a trick to catch."

"Dad's always been the hardest one to pull a prank on." George reflected.

"Bill was pretty good, too." Said Fred. "And he would strike back."

"Always stuck up for Ginny, too."

"Wait." Kira said. "Who are all these people?"

"The Weasley's aren't a family." Lee said, chuckling, "They're a movement."

"There are only seven of us." Said Fred with a smile. "Charlie, Bill, Percy, George, me, Ron and Ginny."

"I think I saw Ginny on the platform. Is she another redhead?" Kira asked.

"Yep. That's our little sis."

"Who was the blond girl?" Lee asked, as he poked the tarantula back into the box again.

"Oh, yea. Lovegood. Er, Luna I think" George said. "Lives in the same town."

"She's a bit off her rocker since her mother died." Fred said.

"Lovegood. Like of the Quibber?" Lee asked.

"The very same." George said.

"What's a Quibber?" Kira asked.

"The Quibber's a weekly newspaper. Bit dodgy in it's reporting."

"My mum gets it." Lee said. "It seems to come out with more original news than the Prophet. Of course, you have to sort out fact from fiction. But it'll tend to publish news a couple days before the Prophet gets around to it."

"Our mum gets Witch Weekly." Fred laughed. "Which if you ask me, is just as weird."

"Poor Ginny has started reading it too."

"She's truly lost to us."

"We'll miss her."

"Sort of."

"Nah." The finished in unison again.

Kira shook her head. "It can't be that bad."

"That bad? It's worse."

"Our sister is ten, and she's reading about how to look 'sexy'"

"It's disturbing."

"Maybe she just wants to be popular." Kira disagreed.

"With who? It's not like she goes to school!"

There was a knock on the door, and a smiling, dimpled witch asked them if they'd like to buy any snacks. The four of them declined. She was tempted, because she hadn't brought a lunch, but she decided to keep her gold for something more permanent.

Lee and the twins, reminded of their hunger, pulled out some food from their bags.

"Oh, delightful. She's given me Ron's." Fred said, looking at his somewhat squished sandwiches. "Peanut butter, ham, turkey. And no corned beef. Trade you George."

George moved protectively around his sandwiches, and a small fight ensued. Lee Jordan sat back, and munched on his own. "You got anything?" He asked.

"Neh, I'm fine. Thanks."

"Give it up!"

"Never! Give it here!"

The twins fight was suddenly interrupted by the door sliding open once more. Hermione Granger had appeared in the doorway with another first year. "Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one."

The twins glanced at her momentarily, before Fred's hand snuck towards the sandwiches, and they were off again. Kira waved from the corner. Hermione smiled back, and she and the toadless boy moved on.

Eventually the twins came to a stalemate, and Fred managed a single corned beef sandwich. As they ate, George fished into his trunk, and pulled out a three bottles. He offered one to Lee who took it with a whoop of joy. Fred reached for the other ones.

"Now Fred." George said seriously, as he blocked his brother's hand. "You already got one of my sandwiches. Don't be greedy."

He offered the bottle to Kira. "Butterbeer. Best stuff on earth."

"No, I couldn't. Thanks, but I'm not thirsty."

"Not thirsty?" Lee queried. "Kira, Kira, Kira. Butterbeer is not just a drink. It's liquid heaven."

"Don't worry about the alcohol either," Fred said. "The only thing that this stuff could get drunk is a house elf."

She gingerly accepted the bottle, and took a sip. It was the wonderful thing she had ever tasted. It seemed to warm up her entire body, which felt good despite the warm day. It tingled. "It's good!"

"Good? It's awesome!"

"Spectacular"

"Wondrous"

"Great! Now get me one before I beat you George."

"Patience, dear Fred. Patience."

"You don't want to keep a wizard from his butterbeer George."

"Of course not."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Next year, the butterbeer goes in my trunk."

"I dunno what you're complaining about. You've got one right there."

"Huh?" Somehow, a bottle of butterbeer had mysteriously appeared on the seat next to Fred. He laughed as he picked it up and inspected it. Shrugging, he uncapped it and took a swig. "Ok, you got me."

Lee motioned at the twins. "These guys think they're pretty good pranksters."

"Think? Pretty good?" George said incredulously as Fred nursed his butterbeer. "How about the stairs, eh? We even got McGonagall with that one."

"Stairs?" Kira asked.

"There are dozens of staircases at Hogwarts. Well, it's a seven story castle, plus the dungeons…" Lee paused. "Well there are over a hundred staircases anyway. And they can move about. So Fred and George here made a new one. Except this one was entirely an illusion, with a cushioning charm on the floor."

"Still can't believe McGonagall fell for it though." Fred said. "She'll never really forgive us for that."

"She will if we ever win the Quidditch Cup back from the Slytherins." George pointed out.

"Perhaps, Perhaps."

The compartment door slid open to reveal another redheaded boy, this one already in new Hogwarts robes. A shiny silver badge with a P on it was pinned to his chest. He wore a scowl on his face. He addressed Fred and George. "Were you two causing trouble? I heard there was a fight back here."

"Percy, Percy, Percy."

"Perfect, Prefect, Percy."

"Why would you accuse us so?"

Percy narrowed his eyes at them. Then he caught sight of Kira. "What's she doing here?"

"Well, I'd imagine she's on her way to Hogwarts" George said.

Fred looked deep in contemplation. "Of course, she could be trying to get to Hogsmeade, and have gotten on the wrong train."

Percy only scowled back at them harder. Then he turned to her. "A word of advice. You would do well to distance yourself from such disreputable individuals such as my brothers here."

Lee laughed, and the twins rolled their eyes.

"Thanks, but I think I'll be ok." She replied. To herself she thought, 'What a pompous prick!'

Shaking his head, Percy left the car, and George shut the compartment door behind him.

"Nightmare, that one. Don't know where he gets it from." George said.

Kira finished her butterbeer. The tingly sensation had left her happily lightheaded. Either that or the alcohol. Her head lolled to one side against the window. Daylight had faded, and there was only the shadows of trees flashing by in the night. Fred noted it as well and stood up, stretching.

A voice sounded through the train. "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be brought to the school separately."

"Bout time to put on our robes." Fred said as he opened his trunk and rummaged about. In a minute, they had all pulled on their robes. Fred had robes that were too long for him. George's were too short. But no matter. With a bunch of wand slashes, one set of robes shrank, the other lengthened. They appeared practiced at this. Seeing her questioning face, George shrugged.

"It's a temporary transfiguration." He explained. "Quick, easy, but it only lasts a couple of days at most."

"Can't you permanently transfigure it once and get it over with?"

"Well," Fred said, striking a teacher's pose with his wand, "If you transfigure permanently, you make permanent deformations and rips. At the atomic layer, things get messed up. A little. Depends how good you are."

"Temporary transfiguration only stretches stuff. Which is why it gradually returns as the magic fades." Lee picked up the discussion. "So, these two have been wearing those robes since their first year. If they had transfigured them each time they grew, the material would permanently get a little messed up each time. After a couple times, it would start acting… unlike cloth."

"Someday," Fred picked back up, "McGonagall – she teaches transfiguration – will take a piece of iron and transfigure it a few hundred times. It's wicked. Contorts and becomes convoluted."

Taking another look at the robes, their explanation made a lot of sense. Their robes were still faded and worn, but no longer ill fitting. Fred hit her robes with the spell, bringing them an inch above the ground, as Lee stuffed his tarantula into his trunk. The other three had the red and gold crest of Gryffindor on their robes. She found herself hoping she would share it. The train was slowing, and the groan of breaks seemed to echo about the train.

"Ready to wrestle a troll?" Fred asked in a jovial tone. "Dumbledore and the teachers will use your performance to sort you into a house."

She doubted this.

"Go for the eyes" George said, with a wide grin.

"I tried to chop off the head." Lee said. "Most things die if they lack a head."

"He almost got it too. I tried to take it out at the knee. Don't try that."

"In choice of weapons, you'll probably want the sword."

"The pike is pretty good. Plant it in the ground."

She laughed, lost her balance and toppled into Fred. Apologizing profusely, she steadied herself.

"I think we'll have to revise our statement." George said. "Butterbeer can apparently get both house elves and ickle firsties drunk."

"I'm not drunk." She said, now blushing. "The train slowing just threw me."

The train came to a halt, and they pressed out into the corridor and out into the cool night air. She drew her robe closer around her, and followed the crowd. A lamp was bobbing over the crowd. A booming voice coming from near the light caught her attention, even over the chatter of students. "Firs' years! Right there! Firs' years over here!."

She worked her way through the crowd departing the train to a bunch of students who had circled about a giant man carrying a lamp. Through the lamplight, she could make out only a bit of the giant's face, which was almost hidden behind a long shaggy mane of hair and a wild tangled beard. She could make out the eyes, glittering like black beetles, and a small upturned smile upon his lips. He looked almost familiar. Like she had seen him a long, long time ago. He gave one last yell to the crowd. "Firs' years, this way! Watch yer step now! Firs' years follow me!"

They followed the giant down a steep narrow path through the trees. As they left the platform, the noise died off. Nobody spoke much. She recognized Terry Boot among them, but couldn't make out Hermione or any of the other boys she had met.

The large man called over his shoulder. "Ye' all get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts, jus' round this bend here."

There were oohs! And Ahhhs! The students rounded the bend and came out onto the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.

The large man pointed them into a fleet of little boats. She followed Terry to a boat. They nodded and smiled nervously in greeting. A pair of girls clamored in after them, whispering to each other.

"No more'n four to a boat!" The large man called, before getting into an empty boat by himself. "Everyone in?" He asked. "Right then - - FORWARD!"

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake. A slight wind played games with the waves, and fluttered a wisp of hair across her eyes. Everyone was silent, and staring at the approaching castle. It towered above them as they sailed neared and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

"Heads down!" The large man yelled, as the boats reached the cliff. The boats floated through a curtain of ivy and along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right under the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbor, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.

Kira concentrated on keeping her balance as she stepped out of the boat and onto the beach. Then after a moment, they followed the giant of a man up a passageway in the rock amid the light of his lamp. At the end of a long stairway, they came out at last onto the smooth damp grass right in the shadow of the castle.

They followed the man up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak front door. The man glanced around the crowd. "Everyone here? Right then!" The man raised a gigantic fist the size of a trashcan lid, and knocked three times on the door.

_AN: Five house points will be awarded to anyone who can guess the house she'll be sorted into. I kind of want to know if I've made it dangerously obvious, or completely indiscernible. See how well my own anvil-sized-hints work in practice. As always, thanks for reading. Review if it strikes your fancy. Or don't. Whatever._


	4. Chapter IV

_Disclaimer: No part of this publication attempts to defraud any copyrights possessed by J.K. Rowling. That said, this is fanfiction. If you like it, take it. It'd be pretty hypocritical for me to demand that you not steal my premises, while I am busy doing just that myself._

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**Chapter IV – Never trust anything if you can't see where it keeps its brain.**

_(Cause that makes it devilishly hard to cut off its head in case of an emergency)  
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There was a pause. And another. Then the door swung open, revealing a tall, black haired witch in emerald-green robes, standing just inside the door. She had a very stern face, and from the looks of it, she wore the look often. It fit her.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," the giant said. The voice echoed in the large entrance hall.

"Thank you, Hagrid," The professor said. "I'll take them from here."

And she swung the door wide open. The entrance hall was so big, you could have dropped Number Four inside, with room to spare. Torches dotted the stone wall casting a flickering quality of light onto the walls and a magnificent marble staircase leading to the upper floors. The ceiling was simply too high to make out.

From the sounds of it, the whole school was behind one of the doorways to the right. The drone of hundreds of voices carried through the closed door; but Professor McGonagall led them across the flagged stone floor and into a small empty chamber off the hall. As they crowded in, she caught sight of the giant – Hagrid – slipping in through the door to the right. They crowded into the chamber, standing rather close together, so that she was leaning against the wall, and another girl against her.

Professor McGonagall looked over them, then spoke. "Welcome to Hogwarts. The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend time in your house common room."

Kira hadn't quite realized all of that. The twins had talked about house Quidditch teams, and the history of magic had only touched on the founders for which the houses were named.

The professor, gave them all a long gaze, and continued. "The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, and rule breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours. The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

Kira ran a hand through her hair, and shrugged. There was no way she could fix it now, what in the middle of a packed corridor without a mirror or a brush. Hogwarts would just have to take Vernon's ultimate advice in life – "You'll take what you're given and you'll like it!"

"I shall return in a moment when we are ready. Please wait quietly." And with that, the professor disappeared out of the chamber.

Really, looking back over the speech, it seemed a little silly. The house cup was a great honor? How do you bestow a great honor on a quarter of the people at the school? It sounded like a silly way to encourage students into following the rules. She didn't break rules often, but these things always annoyed her. They expected people like her to rag on their friends to follow the rules. Peer pressure by competition into being orderly. Bah.

Fred, George and Lee's description had somehow knocked out her fear of the sorting. Really, battle a troll? She suspected something more benign. Nearby a kid with red hair – probably the twins' brother Ron – was muttering that Fred had told him it was some sort of test, and it hurt. Almost everyone looked apprehensive.

Apprehensive was the appropriate word to describe the jitters in her stomach. She was hoping for Gryffindor. Whatever happened, she would have to act brave. Unless there really was a troll, anyway.

"Move along now!" McGonagall's sharp voice cut across the murmuring first years. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

"Now form a line." Professor McGonagall told the first years, "and – Who's toad is that?"

"Trevor!" The toadless boy from the train broke out of line and scooped up the toad. Everyone laughed, and some of the tension in the air dissipated, as the boy retreated to the line under McGonagall's fierce scowl.

"Follow me" McGonagall led them out of the chamber, back across the hall and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

If the entrance hall was impressive, then no words could describe such a strange and splendid place. It was lit by thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. Kira's head snapped back after she caught sight of a ghost, pearly-white and slightly transparent, who was bobbing his head about and casually sitting one of the tables. The tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up here, so they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the professors behind them. The hundreds of students had all turned, staring at them. Uncomfortable with all the staring eyes, she looked down at her shoes and the floor. The stones were polished to a shine, and jointed together in a colorful variety in swirls and patterns galore.

Kira quickly looked up as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she put an extremely old hat, which one could only imagine, had been around since the before the first stone of Hogwarts was placed. It was patched an frayed and rather dirty. What were they supposed to do with the stool? Tame a lion? Pull a rabbit out of the hat? But the hat twitched and began to sing.

The boy beside her sighted happily when he realized all they had to do was try on the hat. But she frowned. She wasn't sure she could talk it into doing what she wanted.

McGonagall had called one of the girls who had been in her boat across the lake. "Abbot, Hannah!"

The blond girl stumbled out of line, took up the hat and put it on. It fell over her eyes, and she had to find the stool with one hand to sit down. There was a moment's pause.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

The table to the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Kira saw the a plump ghost sitting at the table waving merrily at her.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.

"Boot, Terry!" Finally, someone she knew.

"RAVENCLAW!" The second table from the left clapped this time. Several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.

One after another, people disappeared from the line up front to the four tables. Hermione Granger became a Gryffindor, while Justin Finch-Fletchley became a Hufflepuff. The boy with the toad, Neville Longbottom took a long time for the hat to decide, before calling out "GRYFFINDOR!". A blond haired boy took the shortest time to decide, Draco Malfoy was sorted into Slytherin before the hat came to rest on his head.

The alphabet was running low now. "Nott", "Parkinson", "Patil", "Patil". Her hands trembled. Maybe she should just run for the door? What if the hat just didn't call her name? – "Perks, Sally-Anne" – What if the hat just sat on her head, until she was led off and sent back to the Dursleys.

"Potter, Kira!" She felt as if her legs had turned to lead. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a step forward. A wildfire of hisses broke out all over the Hall.

"Potter? Did she say Kira Potter?"

She reached the stool in a second, and dropped the hat over her head. The whole school seemed to be leaning from their seats to get a look, before it slipped over her eyes. She waited.

"Hmm" mused a small voice in her ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. Loyal to a fault, I see. Not a bad mind either. Quite the curious one, aren't we? Ah, and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting… So where shall I put you?"

She gripped her hands together and prayed for Gryffindor. Everyone she knew was there.

"Yes, yes. You wish to follow your friends." The small voice said. "But I could not place you there, no.

"No!" She thought hard at the stupid hat. "Gryffindor!"

"Your fear urges you to find the familiar; but this will pass. You seek to follow your newfound friends from loyalty. You'll work hard for your ends. I'd put you in Ravenclaw if you really liked? No great interest in Ravenclaw? Well, better be HUFFLEPUFF!"

The last word was a shout to the whole hall. Placing the hat back on the stool, she walked shakily toward the Hufflepuff table. She was too relieved to have it over, and too conflicted about being rejected by the hat to register she was getting the loudest cheer yet, with at least a half-dozen students beating a rhythm against the table with their fists. She hardly noticed the girl with the shiny prefect badge shaking her hand before she managed to find a seat next to Sally-Anne and the first girl to be sorted. She shook hands with a grinning Hannah Abbot and Susan Bones.

The high table of teachers was now visible. The boat man, Hagrid, was sitting at the nearest end. Professor Burbage sat on near the other end of the long table and was chatting with a ghost. In the middle of the long table was a large gold chair, which must hold the Headmaster. Albus Dumbledore, enigma of the wizarding world, looked politely down at the sorting of the next student. He had flowing silver hair, beard and mustache. Half moon glasses perched on a long crooked nose.

Kira looked down to applaud for Thomas Summerby, who joined them the table across from them. Almost next up, Dean Thomas got sorted into Gryffindor. She clapped loudly for him as well. Ron Weasley made it into Gryffindor as well. "Zabini, Blaise," was made a Slytherin before Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away.

A boy leaned over and introduced himself as Ernie Macmillan. By the time she had returned the greeting and rightened herself in her seat the headmaster had begun to speak.

"Welcome! Welcome one and all, to a new year at Hogwarts! While we eat our fine feast, let us ponder an age old question. What is the true purpose of the pet rock?"

He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Kira laughed

"Ahh, sweet!" Summerby had noticed the large quantity of food that had appeared before them. Kira was left in awe. It truly was a feast. Roast beef, lamb chops, bacon, pudding, carrots, gravy, roast potatoes, boiled potatoes, fries, and roast chicken. There was even a bowl of what looked suspiciously like lemon drops.

It was all delicious. Not magically delicious, like the butterbeer the twins had procured for her. It was the flavor of muggle cooked food, but all of it was done to perfection. The Dursleys just might have complemented her for this.

Somehow the discussion went to Hogwarts letters and families. Justin spoke up. "We didn't think it was real, magic and all. So we ignored the first bunch of letters. Eventually, this flood of a hundred letters came flying through the window one Sunday, wrecked the whole living room."

The others laughed.

"How about you, Kira?" asked Susan.

"Well, I always sort knew about magic, even though my relatives were muggles. So I believed the letter when I got it." She paused. "The portkey was really cool, though. They sent me this slip of paper which sent me from my house to Diagon Alley in a second."

"I've never gotten to travel by portkey." Hannah said half enviously. "Don't know if I'd want to, it seems more dizzying than the Floo."

"The flu?" Kira asked.

"The floo! You know, you throw floo powder in a fireplace, jump in, yell out your destination…"

"You jump in a fireplace?" Justin asked skeptically.

"Sure! Floo powder cools the flames instantly." Susan said, with a giggle. "It turns the flames green so you can tell."

On Kira's other side, a couple of older students were discussing classes and teachers with Sally-Anne. "If you look two places down from Dumbledore, there's Professor Snape who teaches potions. Biggest git at the school. I'd warn you not to get on his bad side, but you already are, so no worries."

"Just great." Sally-Anne said sarcastically.

Laughing, the older student continued. "Next to him is Professor Quirrell. The guy with the turban. He was pretty good first year, but the rumors are he had some trouble with a hag in Albania. Anyway, he's been stuttering ever since. Hard to learn how to defend yourself from some guy who can't talk."

A sharp pain shot through her scar suddenly, and she rubbed her forehead through her bangs. Weird. The pain was gone as soon as it arrived. It was hard to shake off though. The hook nosed potions professor was glaring at her past Quirrell's turban.

The older student had moved on. "There's Professor Sprout. She's the head of Hufflepuff, for everything the prefects don't take care of. Mostly, the older students run things. Sprout's more likely to be trimming leaves off of a plant in greenhouse three than up and paying attention to what goes on in the common room. Unless there's a problem, we rarely see her outside class. She's nice enough though. Really good class, usually."

Kira had put her fork down as she peered off at the professors. Turning back to her plate, she noticed the food had vanished. She pouted, and tapped her now empty plate. One of the older students laughed.

"Wait a sec – Ah, there they are!" The deserts blinked into sight on the platters. Blocks of ice cream in every flavor, pies, tarts, chocolate éclairs, strawberries, cake; and if someone's favorite wasn't nearby, they would call down the table for it. Kira ventured a scoop of pumpkin-pie ice cream.

She listened in on Susan Bones and Hannah Abbot discussing first-year charms for a second before she heard herself being referenced by one of the older students. "You know, I'm kind of surprised that they would give a portkey to a first year."

"Oh come on, Gordon. People have been using portkeys for centuries. One stupid ministry of transportation report comes along – Bam! A knee-jerk reaction from the whole wizarding world."

Why this was, Kali would have to wait. Dumbledore had risen from his seat, and the hall fell silent.

"Ahem, well now that we have sat back and begun digesting our feast, a few start-of-term notices."

"First years should be aware that Hogwarts hosts large populations of various magical creatures in the forest on these grounds for your study. But all students would do well to remember that entering the forest is strictly forbidden.

"I have been asked to remind you all as well; no magic should be used in the corridors. A list of banned items is viewable in Mr. Filch's office.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch."

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third floor corridor on the right hand side is out of bounds to anyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Curious. Why would that be? And now, she had the odd feeling she would be checking out this corridor.

"And now, before we all fall asleep on our plates, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. There were both groans and chuckles from the students, and the teacher's smiles had lost their humor. McGonagall managed to scowl with upturned lips.

Dumbledore, however, wore a cheery grin as he give his wand a little flick, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike into words.

"Everyone pick their favorite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"

Everyone began bellowing the words at once, at different pitches and different intervals. Feeling ridiculous, but deciding it was better to join the crowd, Kira began to sing to the tune of the eighteen-twelve overture. The song was fairly short, but everyone seemed to finish at different times. At long last, Fred and George, now standing arm in arm on the table, were left singing to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted the last few lines.

"Leeeeaaarrrrrrrrrrrrnn unnnnnnnnn'tilllll ouuuuuurrrrr brrrraiinss allll rooooooooooooo"

The twins kept holding the last note. They had very good lungs. Wait. Nobody's lungs were that good!

"ooooooooooooooooooooo - " A fizzle of light flew across the great hall, and the Weasley twins were suddenly silenced. Everyone laughed, which mingled with and then broke into applause. The twins waved their wands at each other, unsuccessfully trying to wordlessly end the spell.

"Ah, music!" Dumbledore said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

The Hufflepuff first years followed the prefect who had shaken her hand earlier, out of the great hall through the entrance hall stuffed full of milling students, to a door on the right of the main staircase, the down a staircase. Along a corridor which appeared to go right under the great hall was a still life painting of some oranges and a pitcher.

The prefect complimented the orange's color, and the portrait swung open to reveal a round hole in the wall. They all scrambled through it. For a second, Kira wondered it J.R.R. Tolkien was a Hufflepuff. They found themselves in the Hufflepuff common room, with comfortable looking armchairs dotted around the hardwood floor. It also looked like Kira had always imagined a hobbit hole. The ceiling and walls formed a large arch, and little round tunnels lead off to the dormitories, all of which had perfectly round doors, like barrel tops. Numerous yellow and black hangings were all about, and an elevated fire burned brightly in the middle of the room. There was no visible chimney, but the smoke moved straight up and into a hole in the ceiling.

The prefect pointed the boys off to one of the dormitories and the girls to another one. The five of them stumbled along a circular tunnel which followed a snaking path, turned a bend and ended abruptly with another door. Inside was a smaller sort of common room; oval shaped with the same sort of open fire burning in the middle. All around the edge of the room were pockets, each containing a bed lofted over a desk and a wardrobe.

Their trunks had been brought up, and placed by a bed. Susan bones switched spots with Megan Jones so that she and Hannah could have bunks next to each other, but the rest of them were too tired to talk much. They pulled on their pajamas and climbed into bed. Megan asked if they knew when they were supposed to be awake, nobody did. Kira thought briefly of pulling out the picture of her parents and tacking it to the ceiling; neh, tomorrow. Hannah and Susan were laughing about something, but Kira turned over and fell asleep at once.

* * *

_AN: I do apologize for the large batch of similarities between this chapter and the original series. But I am trying to create as faithful a reproduction of cannon as possible. Only one thing has changed, and it is unlikely to affect the traditions of an institution which has been around for almost a millennia._

_Thanks for reading._

**Chapter IV.b – Troll Wrestling**

It turned out, that Fred had been honest. So far the troll had bloodied nearly half of the entering Hogwarts class. A boy, Seamus Finnegan, had just been tossed onto the Gryffindor table. His spear lay in pieces on the floor. The judges quickly agreed with the troll's decision, and the red crest of Gryffindor appeared on the boy's robes. His shoulders sagged with obvious relief…

_(hmm I smell a possible story here. Someday.)_

_More notes: Meeting the twins was a bit of a red herring. I tried to emphasize, or at least get across, that Kira's not the bravest. I can see guesses for Ravenclaw. But I was really trying to push everyone in the right direction. (So much for the anvil sized hints.)_

_Still more notes: As much as I love Hermione and Ron… they probably won't be key characters. I've used my power as writer to make Sally-Anne Perks, and Thomas Summerby first year 'puffs as well. I just needed more characters in first year Hufflepuff, and they were unlabeled in canon. So it shall be written, so it shall be done._


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